


The Enemy of My Enemy

by WriterOfBlocks



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOfBlocks/pseuds/WriterOfBlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love between two people doesn’t always happen at first sight. Sometimes you have to hate the crap out of each other first. (Alternate summary: she’s a silent but deadly new recruit into the Saints! He’s a dour hipster who has a bone to pick with the Carnales! Together, they… keep butting heads, to be honest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enemy of My Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to autumnyte for letting my nerdass of a character get together with her nerdass of a character (eventually <3) In other news, punching someone in the face is the best way to make a first impression.

_“Who the fuck’s this guy?”_

_“Troy and I found him, I was gonna see if he’d ride with us.”_

_“Julius, if he wants to run with the Saints he’s gotta be canonized.”_

_“He’s right, Julius. Everyone had to do it.”_

_“You ready for this, playa?”_

 

Bridget Summers hadn’t known what to expect from the Saints. She’d only paid attention to the gang war going on in Stilwater in the cursory way most of the city’s citizens did- enough to know to keep your head down if gunfire broke out; to avoid groups of people wearing red, blue, or yellow; to not take certain routes home at certain times of day. When she thought about the conflict (if she thought about it at all), it was only to remind herself that she was one of the lucky ones. She hadn’t lost anyone to the crossfire, wasn’t emotionally or monetarily tied to one gang or another. Her existence in Stilwater had been the same from the date of her birth until now- kept separate from the harm other people could do by the strength of her fists and a cultivated “don’t touch me” aura. She had intended to keep it that way.

Granted, that was before the gang war decided to deal her a wake-up slap to the face. No amount of prickliness was going to save her when she was prone on the pavement, a Vice King leveling a pistol at her chest. She’d made her peace, braced for the end- then Troy and Julius appeared, turning what looked like certain death into a second chance. Like it or not, she owed them now. If paying them back meant she had to join their gang, then that’s just what she had to do.

And if joining their gang meant having to go through a gauntlet of goons first? Well. Just slap purple on her and call her a Saint already, she had this in the _bag_.

Bridget watched as the Saints in the graveyard encircled her, cracking their knuckles in anticipation. A familiar calm settled over her. She knew this song and dance, at least. All that business about flying flags that Julius was talking about? Completely over her head. But brawls? Fights? Just her fists and her wits against a wave of assholes trying to hurt her? That was something she knew all about.

The first Saint stepped up with a smirk, already launching a sucker punch at her face. She dodged it easily, reveling in the surprise in his eyes before knocking him over with a punch of her own. From there she fell into her usual rhythm, losing herself in the fight. Her vision narrowed to movement and color, throwing all other details out the window- a purple sweatshirt on her left, a purple jersey in front of her, a purple cap and a bad attitude sent flying backwards, purple, purple, purple, black-

Black?

Bridget slowed down, giving her current opponent another look. Sure enough, he was wearing all black- a black Apollo’s Donuts t-shirt that was shredded to hell and back, black jeans that were _also_ shredded to hell and back, and a pair of black chucks that had definitely seen better days. Her eyes flicked upward, focusing on his face. Spiked black hair, carefully gelled. Eyebrow and ear piercings glinting in the sunlight. A stony set to his face, mouth pressed thin with determination. He wouldn’t have looked out of place among the hipsters that skulked around town. So what the hell was he doing in the all-purple Saints?

Bridget grit her teeth and launched a punch at his face. Oddities aside, this man was still her opponent. Like it or not, he was going to go the fuck down.

Her fist met air.

Something slammed into her back and sent her sprawling to the ground. She could feel grains of dirt crunching between her teeth as she rolled over, leveling a glare at whatever knocked her down. A Saint was standing over her, pulling back from a kick and grinning like the goddamn devil himself. Cheap bastard. Must have waited until she was distracted before making his move. She spat out the dirt and quickly got to her feet, pulling her fists up into a defensive position. Now was not the time to focus on revenge. Not when she still had the rest of the gang to take on.

She kept an eye on the guy in black during the rest of the fight. He wasn’t doing much. Even as the other Saints members stepped forward to try and take her down, the guy in black was just… standing there. He circled around the area, dodged any punches she threw his way, but other than that he just… waited. Bridget felt her blood start to boil. Who did this prick think he was, playing passive like that? This was a fight, goddamn it, not a fucking tango.

It seemed the rest of the Saints were on the same page as her. She could barely hear the jeers of the crowd above the pounding of her heart in her ears, but they were there.

“Come on, Cabrera, quit playing with your food!”

“Kick his ass, Cabrera!”

“Finish this asshole!”

Bridget raised an eyebrow as she dodged a different Saint’s clumsy jab. So the bastard’s name was Cabrera, eh? She shoved her foot into the Saint’s junk, making sure he’d hit the ground before turning to face the bastard in question. Her lips curled into a feral grin as she stared at him, cracking her knuckles in anticipation. The other Saints were right; there was going to be an asshole finished off today. Where they erred was in which one of them was going down.

She charged forward, shooting her fist towards his gut. Cabrera dodged as expected, an eyebrow quirking up as he moved out of the way. Bridget continued her pursuit, deliberately ignoring the rest of the Saints on her tail as she continued throwing punches at him. She didn’t expect any of them to land, if she was honest- it was all about making an opening.

Cabrera dropped his guard to cover his stomach.

There.

Bridget shoved her fist into his face. The man crumpled like paper, skidding to the ground. She pulled back, her breath heavy as she looked for the next her next opponent. A hand clapped down on her shoulder and she seized, expecting a tight grab.

Nothing. Only the smell of cigarette smoke and a (beginning to be) familiar face at the corner of her vision. “You earned your colors today,” Troy said.

She tried to pay attention during Julius’ next speech, she really did- but the image of Cabrera dodging her punches persisted. Who the hell was he, and why wasn’t he wearing purple like the rest of the Saints?


End file.
